


The Arse Asks Pleasure First

by Selly87



Series: Punishments & Pleasure [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Caning, Dom Harry Potter, Dom/sub, Impact Play, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Pain, Painplay, Punishment, Rule Breaking, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Draco Malfoy, Subspace, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 14:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17851640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87
Summary: “Ask,” I whisper and it works like an unlocking charm.--OR__A tale of how some things are easier to ask for than others.





	The Arse Asks Pleasure First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vixens_thoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixens_thoughts/gifts).



> Well, listen, either I'm in a devious mood (I am, OK, I confess) or I'm desperate (for love! Don't get ideas now, people!). I'm gonna say it's none of these and firmly push the blame on my personal trainer (sadist!) and the Fairy Smut King (professional blackmailer!) that has taken up residence in my head. Then again, I am apparently a "bratty sub" (not my words!) so I'm probably just projecting (To hell I am, stay the f**k away from me with that thing...)
> 
> Alright, on a serious note, this is a BDSM fic, I don't think I have to mention that anymore, do I? The tags speak for themselves, don't they? The whole series speaks for themselves. I apologise to anyone who was expecting me to post fluff, I seem to be incapable of producing that at the moment. I might need a _*cough, cough*_ after all.

* * *

“I’m not going to cook tonight,” he tells me and I look up from my paperwork to note that he’s dressed in a pair of Muggle jeans and one of my old t-shirts. Merlin knows where he found that one, I reckon I last wore it sometime during sixth year or so. I didn’t even know I still possessed any of Dudley’s hand-me-downs. It looks too big on him, but he’s stuffed it into the jeans and somehow that makes it look good.

“OK,” I nod with a smile and quite nonchalantly continue reviewing the Blackthorn case report I have in front of me. I bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself from smirking and reach for my self-inking correction quill. There is a discrepancy with the suspect interrogations and I need Auror Runstein to check these over before I’m signing off on the case. We may have to review the Pensieve memories from those dates to—

“Harry Potter, did you hear what I just said?” he interrupts my train of thought and looking up I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I heard you loud and clear, my love, you said you aren’t going to cook tonight,” I answer him and he gapes at me, takes a moment to compose himself and I watch him swallow uncomfortably, as though there’s something stuck in his throat.

“And you’re OK with that?” he asks, sounding a little unsure.

_No, I’m not OK with that._

I regard him for a moment, calmly place the quill on my desk and watch as he fidgets nervously. He is waiting for me to get up and I have no intention of doing so. I torture him a little longer, fold my arms in front of me and smile.

“I did say so, didn’t I, pet?”

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?” he asks and I watch him take a bold step into the room. Just one, but he knows he’s not allowed to come in without asking. Unless it’s an emergency, of course.

This conversation, however, does not strike me as an emergency.

This conversation strikes me as a case of _let’s-see-how-far-I-can-push-Harry-to-get-what-I-want_. So far, I’ve played this game by his rules, which, in all fairness, isn’t the smartest thing to do but I can’t help it, I do enjoy it when he goads me. Unfortunately, he knows that. These last few weeks he has been blatantly exploiting my weak spot to get what he wants.

_Well, pet, you’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn to have mine._

I know exactly what he wants but he’s not going to get it by deliberately trying to piss me off.

_If it’s a punishment you so badly want, you’re going to have to ask for it like the good pet you are._

“I can assure you, I’m not,” I finally answer his question and for a split second, he looks lost. This is not the reaction he expected. I give him one he does expect. I lean back in my comfortable leather desk chair and interlace my fingers behind my head. That’s a gesture he knows and it makes him squirm. This one means he’s in trouble.

“I see you put your clothes back on. Are you planning to go out for dinner then?” I ask, still pretending to be entirely unperturbed by his lack of respect towards me and the rules we have in this house.

He looks at me and I can tell that he’s confused beyond comprehension. I lower my hands and casually place them in my lap.

He watches me carefully, continues to fidget and I suppress the urge to summon a crop to correct that annoying habit of his. I know he’s not doing it on purpose. Right now, he’s genuinely bewildered and fidgeting is the only way he knows how to deal with it.

He had a plan and I thwarted it, quite effectively so, although I suspect he hasn’t finished pushing my buttons just yet.

_Are you feeling lost, pet? You know, if there’s something you need or want, all you need to do is ask._

I slowly rise to my feet and he instantly takes a cautionary step back. I chuckle, round my desk and approach him.

“Why so jumpy?” I ask and stopping in front of him, I reach out to caress his cheek and run my fingers through his hair. He lets out a small gasp and I lean in and kiss him on the lips.

“Where are you going?” he whispers and I know my closeness is killing him.

The fact that I’m showering him with affection instead of reprimanding him is driving him mental.

“The kitchen,” I shrug.

“Why?”

“You said you weren’t going to cook. I still don’t know if you’re planning to go out, but I for one don’t want to starve so I’m going to start making dinner,” I smile and continue to caress his cheek with my thumb. I can feel him lean into the touch and I don’t begrudge him the closeness. He hasn’t earnt it, but we’ll let that one slide. For now, anyway.

“Would you like to help?”

He frowns. His thoughts are so obvious.

Spell Damage? A mindfuck? An ambush?

He’s thinking about all the possible reasons for my less than expected reaction and I know that he’s debating with himself whether to push me any further.

Depending on his answer it would be so easy to twist my fingers into his hair, yank hard and force him to his knees.

One spell and he’d be naked as the day he was born.

_Well, pet, are you going to chance it?_

“No,” he says quietly and holds his breath.

I look at him for a moment, then slowly drop my hand and nod.

“Alright,” I say and walk past him and into the hallway. I’m halfway to the kitchen when he calls after me.

“Harry—”

“Yes?” I ask and turn around.

He stands in the doorway to my study and I note that he’s pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from fidgeting. He shuffles uncomfortably from one foot to the other and looks at me with eyes that are full of unease.

“Nothing,” he mumbles and lowers his head. As he does, his hands leave his pockets and I watch as he moves them behind his back. He is so familiar with that pose that he does it almost automatically.

I watch for a while and wonder whether he’s going to sink to his knees.

He doesn’t.

He just stands there and I swallow a sigh and walk up to him. I gently pry his chin up and note his watery eyes, but he blinks and hides his pain behind a mask of indifference.

_Oh, sweet one._

“Is there something you need?” I ask gently and he looks at me for the longest time. He opens his mouth as if to tell me exactly what he needs, then baulks and shakes his head.

“No, Harry,” he says.

“Very well, if you change your mind, I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner,” I say softly and he looks at me, swallows hard and nods.

I know exactly what he wants but he isn’t going to get it until he asks for it. I’m not sure he will and I fear I may have to coax it from him at some point but for now I am going to let him sit on it for a bit. He’s never asked for _that_ punishment before but if he needs it to feel better, he’s going to have to learn to ask for it and I’m nothing if not a patient teacher.

Today is as good a day as any to start teaching him that lesson.

I leave him in the hallway and make my way into the kitchen.

My first stop is the pantry and it takes me a moment to orientate myself. The kitchen is usually his territory. And, as per our contract, cooking is one of the tasks he is responsible for but that’s not to say I can’t put together a decent meal.

I grab several ingredients and as I leave the pantry, I draw my wand and wave it at the wireless. It turns on and light music fills the room. I wash, peel, and dice the potatoes and while I throw them into a pot of water and add a bit of salt, I note that he has followed me into the kitchen. I also note that he has taken his clothes off again. All of them.

He stands in the doorway and watches me warily. I hear him sigh a few times but pointedly ignore it. Eventually, he asks the question that’s undoubtedly been burning a hole into his tongue for the last ten minutes or so.

“Harry, are mad at me?”

I stop cleaning the chicken breast and putting it down on the cutting board I turn to face him. He looks positively uncomfortable.

“C’mere,” I say softly and it takes him a moment but he enters the kitchen and walks up to me.

“Thank you for taking your clothes off again, I like it much better when you don’t hide your gorgeous body from me,” I praise him for at least partially coming to his senses. “Now, to answer your question, let me ask you one in return first. Do you think I am mad at you?”

He looks at me, pouts a little and then sighs.

“I don’t know. You don’t look angry. You don’t sound it either.”

I smile. “Well, then I’m probably not angry, pet. Now, would you like to help me to make dinner?”

He nods. “Yes, Harry.”

“Good, four hands work so much faster than two, don’t you think so? Let’s see how today goes, if we enjoy this, we might have to do this more often.” I say and I know he thinks that I am referring to the cooking. For now, I am content to let him believe that I am.

He quietly starts on slicing the chicken breast and I tackle the vegetables. We work in silence and before long, dinner is ready.

He lays the table, obediently waits for me to sit down then places my plate in front of me.

“Thank you, pet,” I say. “You may sit.”

He takes his usual seat and sits with his hands in his lap and his head lowered, waiting for me to start eating. It’s really truly surprising how he can manage to go from being a bratty nightmare to being this sweet little pet. I can’t help but wonder how long it’s going to last. He hasn’t yet gotten what he wants, I doubt he’ll find easy to stay under.

I observe him for a few minutes and I can tell he needs it badly. I know my pet, he’s going to snap if he doesn’t get it and while I have no intention of denying him what he so desperately needs, he must learn to ask for the things he wants.

Deep down, he knows that.

_Some things are easier to ask for than others._

I pick up my fork and start eating.

“Eat, my love,” I tell him after I’ve taken my first bite. He slowly picks up his cutlery and pokes at the food on his plate with little to no enthusiasm.

I eat my own food and continue to watch him chew on two forkfuls of his dinner. He spends the remainder of the time pushing the food around his plate.

I put my knife and fork down and cupping his chin, I turn his head towards me. He looks at me and swallows.

I caress his cheek.

He shudders.

“Not hungry, my love?” I ask and he clenches his fists around his cutlery. I can tell he’s struggling to keep it together and—

_One, Two, Three…_

“Stop being so fucking gentle with me! I already broke the fucking rules, what more will it take?” he snaps and slamming his cutlery down on the table, he shoves his chair back and gets to his feet.

He moves to stalk out of the kitchen and I lean back in my chair.  
  
“If you walk through that door, I will consider that as you safewording out of the weekend,” I tell him and he freezes. I know this is the last he wants and I watch as he starts to shake.

I am up on my feet and at his side with my arms around him in an instant. I lead him out of the kitchen and into our playroom and close the door behind us.

“Kneel,” I whisper and he sinks to his knees immediately. He places his hand behind his back and lowers his head.

I summon my favourite rattan cane and placing it underneath his chin, I force him to look up at me. He looks at me with wide eyes. A visible shudder rushes through him.

I smile and withdrawing the cane, I push it between his slightly parted thighs and force them further apart, then tap the cane against his arms.

“Where I go, you crawl,” I tell him firmly and move two steps away from him.

He crawls after me, obediently and without hesitation.

I lead him over to the black wooden chest at the foot of our bed and sit down on top of it.

“You’ve been seriously bratty, deliberately pushing all my buttons, breaking more rules than I care to repeat— Actually, no. Do you know what? Sit back and tell me exactly how many rules you broke. I want you to list every single one of them,” I snap at him and gently tap his outer thigh with the cane.

He flinches.

He obediently sits back on his haunches and places his hands behind his back.

“Look at me!” I growl and he slowly lifts his head. “Now, tell me exactly which rules you broke.”

“Harry—” he whispers and I tap him with the cane again. This time not so gentle. It’s not hard enough to cause pain but it’s just firm enough to let him know I am serious.

“I put on my clothes without permission, I came into your study without permission, I refused to do my chores, I did not answer your question, I did not eat my food and failed to tell you why. I lied to you, I snapped at you and I cursed.”

“Well, isn’t that just marvellous, you know exactly what you’re allowed to do and what you aren’t allowed to do. Tell me, did you break the rules because you don’t want to follow them anymore? Do we need to renegotiate our agreement?”

“No, Harry.”

“No, what? No, I don’t want to follow the rules anymore or no, we don’t need to renegotiate our agreement?”

“No, we don’t need to renegotiate our agreement, Harry.”

“Good. You broke the rules because you wanted to force my hand, is that correct?”

“Yes, Harry,” he says and lowers his head in shame.

“Look at me,” I growl and he flinches but obeys me. “What is it you want?” I ask and instead of answering me he remains silent.

His eyes stray towards the rattan cane in my hand and I tap it idly against the palm of my hand.

“What is it you want?” I repeat a little bit firmer but he doesn’t respond.

I give him a minute to answer my question, then slowly rise to my feet.

“Well, if you don’t know what you want, I’ll make the decision for you. A timeout it is. You’ll have time to carefully think about what it is you want.”

He looks positively gobsmacked and his mouth opens in protest.

“Harry—” it’s a half plea and it’s all he says.

“What? Last chance, what do you want?”

He glances at the cane in my hand and pleads with his eyes.

I shake my head.

“Not good enough.”

I take one step forward and grab him by his collar.

I am about to yank him up and to his feet when he places both his hands over mine.

“Please, Harry, no,” he begs.

“No what, pet?”

“Please don’t put me into a timeout.”

I let go of his collar but he doesn’t let go of hand. I crouch down in front of him and look him straight in the eyes.

“If you don’t want timeout then you’ll have to tell me what you want.”

“Please don’t make me,” he pleads and blushes crimson.

“Oh? How lovely, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you blush over something you want,” I smile and he blushes even harder. He stumbles over his words and his hands tighten around mine.

He holds on to me as though I am his lifeline and I suppose I kind of am. Right now, at least. He knows I can give him what he wants, what he needs.

_But you will have to ask for it. If you don’t ask, you’re not getting it, pet._

“Beautiful, so beautiful,” I whisper. “Judging by the colour of your face, you want this badly, don’t you?”

He nods.

I click my tongue.

“Yes, Harry.”

“Tell me, what do you want?”

“Please, Harry.”

“That’s not an answer to my question,” I shake my head. “Tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“Do I?” I raise an eyebrow at him. He is still holding on to my hand.

“Yes, you always give it to me.”

“Not good enough,” I shake my head again. He’s trying to hint at what he wants without actually saying it.

He’s very good at getting what he wants when he’s allowed to do it his way.

But that ship has sailed.

“If you can’t ask for it, you don’t need it badly enough,” I tell him quite firmly.

He whimpers in wordless protest and his hands tighten around mine.

“I need it,” he forces the three words out of his mouth and blushes anew.

“Pretty blushing little pet,” I smile. “This is how I like you best, obedient and sometimes a little shy.”

“Harry—”

“No, tell me what you want.”

His eyes immediately stray to the cane and stroke it along his thigh, up his side and down his back. His eyes glaze over and he lets out a little moan.

“Is this what you want?” I tease and continue to caress him with the cane. I’m letting it wander everywhere and even rub it along the length of his cook. He’s hard from the arousing touch and I tap the cane against the inside of his thighs to force them apart.

I shift a little, tap the cane against his arse and he moans and his eyes fall closed then snap open again when I withdraw the cane, pull my hand out of his grasp, and move to sit on the chest.

“ _Ngh_ , Harry, please—” he begs and I shake my hand.

“Ask for it,” I tell him outright. “If you want pain, ask for it. You’re so good at forcing me to give to you, now learn how to ask for it.”

His mouth drops open and he stares at me.

“You knew all along,” he breathes.

“Of course, I did. I know you, pet,” I smile.

“You’re devious,” he sighs.

“You say the sweetest things, pet,” I chuckle and tap the cane against the wooden chest I’m sitting on. It instantly draws his attention.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a little bit of pain,” I reassure him, although I don’t think it’s necessary.

“I want a lot,” he mumbles and blushes again.

“Nothing wrong with that either.”

“Make me repeat it,” he begs and I shake my head.

“I’m not bargaining with you, if you want the cane, then ask.”

He whimpers and moving off the large chest, I grab his chin hard and force him to look me in the eye.

“Ask.”

He stares up at me and while he does his breathing becomes laboured. Not because he’s about to have a panic attack but because he’s excited and fighting with himself.

I let him have that internal battle with himself but watch him closely.

He keeps his eyes focused on me as though I’m the grounding force in the storm that’s raging on inside his head as he tries to push himself past his comfort zone.

I decide to help him out a little and pressing my cheek to his, I breathe hotly into his ear and he groans.

“Ask,” I whisper and it works like an unlocking charm.

“Hurt me,” the words fall from his lips and in an instant, all tension leaves him and as I pull back, he looks at me with renewed awe.

Suddenly, he is calm. Steady. Centred. Grounded. He momentarily closes his eyes, inhales deeply, then opens his eyes and exhales slowly.

“Hurt me, please, oh fuck, please, please, hurt me, I need you to hurt me,” he begs and I silence him with a deep, passionate kiss.

When I pull away, he is breathless.

“With pleasure, pet,” I tell him and offering him my hand, I pull him to his feet and lead him to our customised grey bound-leather chaise lounge. He crawls on top of it and I summon four leather cuffs.

I restrain his left hand, kiss him, then restrain his right hand, kiss him again and do the same with his ankles. He turns his head to the side, presses his cheek against the cool leather and watches me. He’s got that dazed look of anticipation in his eyes and it’s only going to get stronger.

“All good?” I ask and he nods.

I crouch down beside his head. “If it gets too much, you will tell me to stop, are we clear?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Good.”

I stand up and moving into position I let the cane slide over his left arm, down his back, over the delicious curve of his buttocks, down his thighs and then I deliver the first blow. I don’t swoosh the cane much but control the pace and the intensity of the blow with my wrist. It lands precisely where I want it to, right across the centre of his arse. The sting makes him yelp and instead of lifting the cane up, I press it into his skin, increasing the sting, deepening it, making that feeling of surrender travel up his spine.

He whimpers and I let him right out that wave of pain. His eyes flutter. He looks happy.

“Thank you,” he whispers and I smile.

“You’re welcome, pet.”

I lift the cane and bring it down again. Once, twice, three times.

He yelps with each blow and his eyes fall closed. His mouth drops open.

“Harder, please hurt me,” he begs.

It’s like I removed the roadblock in his brain. I forced him to ask for what he wants most and now it’s like he can’t stop himself. Listening to him, hearing him ask for what he wants, it’s the most beautiful, most intensely erotic thing I have ever heard and I indulge him.

I deliver blow after blow with varying degrees of intensity. After each strike I press the rattan against the welt, lengthening the time of the sting, deepening the experience, and allowing him to feel the full extent of the pain.

I pace myself, remind him to breathe through the pain, to breathe deeply and then deliver a series of nasty blows.

_One, two, three, four, five—_

He screams and squirms against the leather chase and the tears fall.

_Six, seven, eight, nine—_

He howls and sobs.

I give him a moment to breathe.

His arse is glowing red and a couple of the welts are deep red. I know they will bruise, especially if I deliver another few blows right on top.

“Do you need to stop?” I check in with him.

He shakes his head.

“No, please, more, Harry, please,” he pleads.

“Says those two pretty words again.”

“Hurt me,” he whispers and I smile.

“Anything for you, my love.”

I continue to bring the cane down over his arse and the back of his thighs. I deliver each blow with measured precision and watch him slip into subspace. I deliver a few more blows and let every single one of them sink deep into his body.

He pants and I remind him to breathe.

He doesn’t scream quite as much anymore but he continues to sob and the tears continue to fall whenever I deliver a particularly hard blow. He’s not hard anymore but he’s most definitely aroused — this is a different kind of orgasm for him. The amount of blood that’s surged right to his arse and the back of his thighs delivers the vibrations of each strike right to his hole.

I touch the skin on his arse. It’s burning hot and giving him a break, I tenderly caress the welts. They vary in depth and colour and I know he’s going to bruise. He’s going to be feeling this for days on end. He’s going to be unable to sit. He’s going to wince and whine with every single step he takes.

“Had enough yet?” I ask but he merely hums.

I crouch down beside him and run my fingers through his damp hair. He’s sweaty and pliable. The only time he tenses is when the cane strikes his skin. It’s a second of tension, then he relaxes to ride the wave of pain.

He has surrendered completely.

Right now, I could ask him to do anything, anything at all, and he wouldn’t object.

He’s completely gone.

“Open your eyes for me, my love,” I whisper and I need to prompt him a few times before his eyelids flutter and he looks at me with a dazed expression. A silly smile curls his lips upward.

“Harry,” he breathes.

“Want a little more?” I ask.

He nods.

I give him just a few more blows, some harder than before and one of them inevitably splits the skin. He groans and I watch him slip just a little further, a little deeper in subspace. He mumbles something entirely incomprehensible and dropping the cane, I wave my hands to undo his restraints.

He doesn’t move and crouching down beside him, I tenderly kiss his forehead and play with his hair.

I don’t talk to him. He doesn’t need that right now.

Instead, I let him float. I know his arse and the back of his thighs are throbbing and the pain is intense. He doesn’t feel it, not to the degree that he should. He’s numb to anything, all he feels right now is pleasure.

It’s been a while since I’ve last seen him this far gone and I can’t stop kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his shoulders, his arms.

I lift his left hand to my lips and kiss each fingertip and he mumbles something entirely incomprehensible.

“Did you enjoy that?” I whisper and he nods.

He’s temporarily lost the ability to speak. It’s half a miracle he can make sense of what I’m telling him and I thoroughly relish in showering him with compliments and so much love. If he wasn’t already flushed, he’d be blushing repeatedly and I tell him so. He hums and I have no idea if he’s protesting or agreeing but either way it sounds beautiful and I tell him that too.

I tell him that he’s beautiful and perfect and brave and precious and he pushes into my touch and continues to float. I’m hesitant to leave his side but eventually, I convince myself that it’s okay.

I leave him on the chaise lounge and head to the bathroom where I fill a small basin with warm water and add a tonic that will disinfect and protect the wound where the skin split. It will also soothe the skin, only a little.

I know he doesn’t want anything against the pain and he wants the bruises to remind him, so I leave to return to his side with the basin of warm water and a soft cloth.

I crouch beside him and run my fingers through his hair. His eyelids flutter and open and he looks at me. There’s a peaceful calmness in his eyes and he smiles softly. I kiss him again, then gently wipe him down.

I start with his buttocks and the back of his thighs and he whimpers each time the cloth touches his skin. I am as gentle as I could possibly be but I can’t avoid hurting him completely. A few tears spill over the rim of his eyes and he sobs quietly.

I massage his scalp and pause to distract him with gentle kisses, then continue to wipe down every inch of his body. When I’m done with his back, I pull him into my arms and take care of his front, then wrap him into a gentle warming charm and carry him over to the bed. I place him on his front, take off my clothes and move to engulf him in a gentle hug.

He half-drapes himself all other me and I gently run my hand up and down his back. He shuffles a little, whimpers and hot tears fall into my chest.

“Shush, all is good, I’m right here, just drift, I’ve got you,” I whisper and instead of a blanket I renew the warming charm.

He sighs softly and for several minutes he mumbles incomprehensible nonsense. I let him babble and massage his scalp and rub his back and keep him safe.

I’ll run him a bath later, but for now, he needs to rest. I summon an electrolyte-replenishing potion from the bathroom and chance my luck at getting him to drink some of it.

_Miracles do happen._

He drinks nearly all of it, then continues to float between subspace, dreamland, and reality. He babbles nonsense, shuffles and whimpers and I wrap my arms around him, renew the warming charm and rub the sole of my foot over his calf.

We’ll have to talk about this. About his penchant for rule-breaking to get the pain he likes and maybe we can come to an agreement. I’m willing to allow him a certain amount of rule-breaking to get what he wants if he agrees to ask when he needs to feel pain.

I run my hands through his hair again and for some reason, I am certain that going forward, Draco Malfoy is a changed man.


End file.
